After Wagram it became evident to her that at last her fate was sealed; but though she beset Méneval and all the members of her household for information, it was only a fortnight before the public divorce that she knew her fate. It was Josephine’s own son and daughter, Eugène and Hortense, who broke the news to her; and it was on the former that the cruel task fell of indorsing the divorce in the Senate in the name of himself and his sister. Josephine was terribly broken by her disgrace, but she bore it with a sweetness and dignity which does much to make posterity forget her earlier frivolity and insincerity. “I can never forget [says Pasquier] the evening on which the discarded empress did the honors of her court for the last time. It was the day before the official dissolution. A great throng was present, and supper was served, according to custom, in the gallery of Diana, on a number of little tables. Josephine sat at the centre one, and the men went around her, waiting for that particularly graceful nod which she was in the habit of bestowing on those with whom she was acquainted. I stood at a short distance from her for a few minutes, and I could not help being struck with the perfection of her attitude in the presence of all these people who still did her homage, while knowing full well that it was for the last time; that in an hour she would descend from the throne, and leave the palace never to reënter it. Only women can rise superior to such a situation, but I have my doubts as to whether a second one could have been found to do it with such perfect grace and composure. Napoleon did not show so bold a front as did his victim.” There is no doubt but that Napoleon suffered deeply over the separation. If his love had lost its illusion, he was genuinely attached to Josephine, and in a way she was necessary to his happiness. After the ceremony of separation, he was to go to Saint Cloud, she to Malmaison. While waiting for his carriage, he returned to his study in the palace. For a long time he sat silent and depressed, his head on his hand. When he was summoned he rose, his face distorted with pain, and went into the empress’s apartment. Josephine was alone. When she saw the emperor, she threw herself on his neck, sobbing aloud. He pressed her to his bosom, kissed her again and again, until overpowered with emotion, she fainted. Leaving her to her women, he hurried to his carriage. Méneval, who saw this sad parting, remained with Josephine until she became conscious. When he left, she begged him not to let the emperor forget her, and to see that he wrote her often. [Illustration: NAPOLEON. Engraved in 1841 by Louis, after a painting made in 1837 by Delaroche, now in the Standish collection, and called the “Snuff-box.” Probably the finest engraving ever made of a Napoleon portrait.]